Read Online Dark Heart by Russell Kirkpatrick - Free Book Online

the storm was unnatural. Either way, Noetos was able to gather the carven head of his daughter, stuff it in his belt and set off at a hobbling run towards safety, shouting for Anomer to break the link between them as he ran. He received no reply; the link was already gone.
    Behind him, Omiy gave a great shriek as the whirlwind bore down on the shattered remains of the inn.
    Bregor tried to deal with his mounting fear, but it seemed repeated exposure to terror did little to dampen its effects. Where was that fool fisherman? As the thought crossed his mind, Noetos appeared as if conjured, hobbling up the road past the Money Exchange, one arm held closely against his body. Arathé followed close behind him. Just as Bregor wondered where Anomer was, the boy darted out from behind the stables to Bregor’s right and ran towards Suggate along the city wall.
    ‘Bregor,’ the Fisher cried, ‘get as many as you can through the gate, would you?’
    ‘We’re going as fast as we can already,’ Bregor told him. ‘Shouting at us won’t make things go any more quickly.’
    ‘Why is it taking so long?’ Noetos kept turning and glancing behind him.
    ‘What have you done, Fisher?’
    ‘You don’t have the right to know,’ was the retort.
    Fair enough, but not helpful. ‘You’re drawing those whirlwinds this way, aren’t you?’
    ‘You still haven’t told me why it’s taken so long to get these people through the gate.’
    ‘Because these people aren’t the ones you saw when you were here last. People keep emerging from all over the place. The line’s getting longer. And these are the less able-bodied, those who can’t scale the wall.’
    ‘Uh,’ the man grunted. ‘Get them through anyway. This won’t be a safe place to be in a few minutes.’ Noetos drew closer to him, still breathing heavily, one hand absently rubbing his left knee. ‘I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work, and the storm takes me, Anomer and Arathé have to lead the whirlwinds away from the city. Therefore they will need to pass through that gate—so be ready to let them through. Or does everyone here want to die?’ The last question made it clear he knew he was talking to all who awaited passage through Suggate.
    ‘Did you hear me?’ he called again. ‘If I die, let these two pass. The whirlwinds will follow them.’
    ‘Then let them follow back in the city,’ a woman said. ‘We don’t want the fingers of the gods coming near us.’
    Noetos growled in frustration, and called his children over to him.
    ‘You’re certain of this?’ he asked them. Both nodded, eyes too bright.
    Bregor wondered how the Fisher had persuaded, or threatened, them in order to gain their cooperation, and how he might undo it. He had been as much a father to them as this boorish man. They were her children, far more so than his.
    ‘Find shelter,’ the fisherman growled at the crowd. ‘We’re making our stand here.’
    A few of the crowd fled; others pushed harder at those lined up in front of them, while some tried their hand at scaling the side of the gate.
    Bregor watched, immobilised by dread, as Noetos turned and walked slowly back towards the whirlwinds of the gods, arms spread wide as though trying to embrace his own destruction. His children—Opuntia’s children, white-faced and red-cheeked—followed him.
    Now this, this was near the top of the list of the most difficult things he had ever done. Not as terrifying as watching his family die, but that had not been a conscious choice. He had struggled then, trying to escape, to interfere. This time he had to make himself walk towards what might well be his own death.
    But not that of his children. They would be safe if they did what he asked.
    If this storm is natural it will kill me . There was no room for doubt in that thought. If, however, the storm turned out to be magical, he had the word of an alchemist—a man at least three parts insane—that the stone he carried would protect